"...you and me both..." chips in Jats "...and if it wasn't for the trick of keeping interest payments on mortgages at virtually point nothing percent for the past eighteen months there would have been mass rioting on the streets here, mainly because that's where millions would have ended up with nowhere to live as repossessions would have sky rocketed rather than being just the most ever, and many who should have been crippled by their greed are indeed rubbing there hands with glee at this where instead the tax comes in now from elsewhere, like 20% VAT kicking in at the new year making pretty much everything being taxed including food then..." Jats sips his tea shaking his head "...still there have been signs of things to come, some hope, with the student protests, and if I can find the clip now as many were removed the very next day, the bit that pricked my ears was the chants from the students as they mobbed Charles and Cammillas car 'off with their heads' they cried, oh how I smiled, let them eat cake/crack indeed, we will see..." and Jats smiles viewing that stream now days after writing this and searching Google for DIY guillotines

the chameleon plucks a post randomly, not that this matters this being a show thread then...

"...funny what we take from our parents, and none of it makes any difference, other than how smart the parents are in the first place, as the books change and the advice contradicts the last one, neither too whether the parents are together still, or at what age they start pre-school or listened to whale music in the womb, as other than genetics our influence is not as much as we would like to think it is, not that this is all from books I have read, especially the enlightening one I have just put down, no it's also how many women I have seen, despite the differences in upbringing, turn into their mothers then without even realizing it passing on their neurotic tendencies to the child. So, other than the things you can't control..." as Jats clears his throat just as his father does "...the trick is the self realisation of the things you care not to own, and pass down again..." oh darn it was a triple roll-over on the lottery tonight Jats remembers now having forgot to buy a ticket as usual, still his Father would have bought ten "...even then our influence is over rated, when we do good, or better that is, hiking or museum trips and the like having little influence as peer pressure claims the major percentage, but nature likes to throw in its exceptions just to confuse everybody..."

i still have no fucking clue what is going on in here.. i dont understand your gibberish

"...ah that must be the English confusing you..." and the chameleon takes a deep breath then "...sup wtf dude lol u mad rofl ur not gettin this shit for real man duh its just like language and writing and deep shit and lulz and this geezer and his lizard and shit where he says shit and he says shit back like innit then retard dude cums in says shit and lizard pwns that muthas ass lol u know wat im saying bro duh for real. FUUUUUU then if ur not getting it like ur mad or sumfin like srs u lame its real and shit innit k...WERD...bowrofl..." says the chameleon getting down with the kids hoping that helps clear things up then

[footnote; livewriters feed on replies, they don't do blogs precisely because want you to post in your own right on their threads, simply remember the line feed to be fed it's like passing the hat for a penny of your thoughts, or 2cts even]

repost from elsewhere

My problem is Iím kind of floating in limbo. I met most of my friends while riding the bike. I left my phone in the hospital and I donít know where most of them live. They probably think I killed myself on the bike one day, I just fell off the Earth. Hurricane Katrina compounded that, it scattered people all over the place, hell thereís relatives I still havenít seen since the storm. Iím trying to make new friends but I donít know where and being disabled ainít helping any.

"...ah but it is not so human, for what is so where it cannot be proved..." replied the goblin, thinking of j m barrie, continuing "...that is, that our forumland is simply whatever one portrays of it here, forumland is just the sum total of all these portrayals then, where you have no disability whatsoever bar the one you carry around with you, so dump it and let the slot become your moterbike anew, letting these threads pass below your wheels now on that fabled journey to self once more...", somehow that line if you can't live without it then you are not ready for it summed up the goblin approach always, adding "...race you then, think you can catch me human, I want you to..."

[quote="fleamailman"][footnote; livewriters feed on replies, they don't do blogs precisely because want you to post in your own right on their threads, simply remember the line feed to be fed it's like passing the hat for a penny of your thoughts, or 2cts even]

"...you picked up on my feeling here I see then Flea, or was it my tell tale mention of 'show thread'..." as Jats aches a little now back from severing limbs, the winter break having taken its toll "... but no, the 'Bumble Bee lady' farewell post will not be appearing here soon, as this is the only friendly writers site I have ever come across, and for that I will always give them their due, so just Adieu then..."

"...go for it, write out a bit, and then read it to someone, simply you're not going to know till you have your own experience of it, for it might work for someone else, whereas it might work for everyone else, where again it might work for no one at all, but who is you but you here, where advice is a tempting short-cut perhaps, but nothing substitutes for ones own mistakes on the path of certainty..." mentioned the goblin

the chameleon pauses a while, to stoke the fire, and take a sip of his tea "...and the best oxymoron I see particularly on so called writers sites is stop posting start writing when what they should be proposing is start writing in your posts as the era of the 'live writer' is here, time to break free from the shackles, as a few did in the crumbling music industry, sparking a devastating revolution still ongoing, so, forget your writers web sites and your boring blogs, which no one reads, other than your little clique, whereas one well written post can reach ten thousand pairs of eyes across the internet galaxy, and if you continue on, prolifically, your readership is in the hundred's of thousands, more than most blogs will ever be sitting on the dusty internet shelf, unless you are somebody, or be somebody first, so, start a revolution then, be a writer, writers write, every day they can't help it, reflections of what's around us, not bound by form or genre, a style yes, a persona, the end result, a readership most authors would die for... or, just talk amongst yourselves..."

"...and so we continue then, just for the hell of it upon our medium here, this blank canvas that needs to be filled with something more than the weather, the news, and how much you paid for your new shoes, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, surely, you think, something different at least..." as Jats looks at the dull rainy rest of the day ahead, planning to fuck it and go back to bed "...for someone has to for the sake of forum-land at least, who will ironically tell me that this is a waste of time yet more inane, insufferable rubbish, in broken English, too long to read, that I am mad indeed, and what do I know about the price of cheese etcetera, etcetera, though that's nothing new, it's been done to death, as everything now has been done to death, until someone comes along with a new twist on being done to death, like the street artists who have risen from the underground to the galleries themselves then selling in the auctions for excesses becoming a parody of their original mockery as they are then done to death, the brainwash complete, the cycle continually set on repeat..."

"...here's a cunning plan then..." breezes in Jats "...lets lock as many people up in jail as we can, then use them as slave labour to undercut other countries such as China and Mexico, no worries about unions, family problems, unauthorised absenteeism and you can forget about minimum wage too, 25c an hour will do..." outrageous thinks the chameleon surely no country could get away with that "...and so, did you know the US federal prison industry produces 100% of all military helmets, ammunition belts, bullet-proof vests, ID tags, shirts, pants, tents, bags, and canteens. Along with war supplies, prison workers supply 93% of paints and paintbrushes, 92% of stove assembly, 46% of body armour, 21% of office furniture, Airplane parts, medical supplies, and much more. With approximately 2 million inmates in state, federal and private prisons throughout the country no other society in human history has imprisoned so many of its own citizens with the prison industry complex being one of the fastest-growing industries in the United States and its investors are on Wall Street pumping in more money into private prisons, while lobbying for tougher sentences all the time, and guess what..." as Jats feels a number of famous past Americans turning in their graves at the news "...80% of the prison population is Afro American and Hispanic..." you just couldn't make this shit up thinks Jats "...I have a dream indeed as the American war machine continues, being fed now by the back door slavery prison industrial complex...land of the free my arse..."

"...seems I talk about this site more than I post to it then, as the only writers site that hasn't banned me, yet, a beacon that burns bright though so slowly..." as Jats here writes away a few hours waiting for his sons first game for his school football team, the only one to be picked from his year for the year above him as he follows his Dads footsteps once more then, and triggering Jats to remember being on the school stage holding the cup up proudly to the whole of the school assembled before him where weirdly the team were all given a packet of biscuits each by the headmaster in recognition of our achievement "...yes, must post here more often then, when I can think of something to write about..." as Jats now follows the trail of crumbs elsewhere

Last edited by Jats on Wed Mar 16, 2011 2:19 pm; edited 1 time in total

"...so much for a morning off then..." Jats wipes the sweat from his brow "...although it seems like there is never a day off now, always working, but not then..." as the adjoining neighbours Leylandis, horrible things, lay all logged up neatly on the floor now as Jats and his next door neighbour appreciate the wealth of light flooding into their gardens, agreeing it was handy them moving out last week then, and so finish seizing the opportunity grabbed with chainsaws in hand that are cooling down on the bench in the glorious sunshine "...though he can keep the wood, I'm more discerning these days...shorts on then, more work to be done then..." as the chameleon knows that a writer is working when he is just staring out of the window you see, as he writes, therefore being a writer then

"...I have thought about it and looked into it, how I want to be disposed of, and seeing as the possibility of my body lying under a shield on the deck of a Viking ship floating out to sea, as archers fire torched arrows from the cliffs to set me ablaze on my journey to Valhalla is out of the question then, I did enquire, however the local council objected, something about health & safety on canal highways, I am going for a simpler approach then, at a burial field, by chance, not far from me, a simple ceremony where I will be buried under a tree, in a cardboard box. An Ash I think, no cold headstone or plaque for me, just my tree and if they wish, they can come and give it a hug, or sit beneath it for a while, as I feed it from below, so, perhaps then, in some way I will live for a hundred years more, become a giant amongst men before I fall and then I hope I burn just as bright..."

"...that would be my sons dagger then. For the first six times and then the joke wears thin, patronising beggars, though I can tactically outsmart them on Fifa still..." as Jats reminisces now "...I wish I had paid more attention at school, instead of acting the fool, but then again, when you find out later in life that most of what you were being taught was complete bollox anyway, perhaps I had the right idea. Take our great sceptred Isle, where once women were held in such high esteem, with equal rights, perhaps more than modern day, and as the true English scurried off to Wales, where the moustache was de rigueur, perhaps this was a small price to pay for being more than a chattel, a mans prey, oh those great Welsh princes, that fought so hard and died for a free Wales, but, perhaps not in vain, as at least their language sings once more. And so on we went, to Freedom for Wimmin, to the present day, perhaps then this is why the women scorn so much at seeing young boys play at Wars game..." as the chameleon updates the picture to one of the latest game now as its been a while since this was posted last, though it will be again for sure, seeking out the audience, no 'camping' for the chameleon then

"...it amazes me censorship on the internet, it really makes me chuckle, intentional, or software forced and I often wonder at how far it will go, you can see it creeping in, the insidious adverts, the spamming, claims of copyright and this continual crusade to keep it clean. I think it was better when it was subversive, slightly dangerous even, and when lets face it, you have had your share of porn whatever your degree, or gender..." Jats nods his head to a few of the girls reading too "...it was a place to be ubiquitous, pervasive, punk even, where as now, at the risk of not sounding so, its not cool the internet now, just another polite battleground for idiocracy..." and Jats goes back to playing with his self then, for that's all one should need to censor

http://en.wikinews.org/wiki/British_ISPs_r...phy_allegations

Last edited by Jats on Sat Apr 02, 2011 10:45 am; edited 1 time in total

"...is it over yet..." as Jats glances at the clock "...no not yet..." having noticed the humans had been more playful than usual in some parts of forum-land today and remembering how it only lasted until 12am in his day, then trip-overs were used as both deterrent and punishment to anyone straying over with their pranks by a minute or two after a couple of scuffles, even fights had restored order "...yes it has only come to my notice today that on Thursday here in the UK we go to the polls in a possibly momentous day where we have the opportunity to change the way we vote in elections here, more proportionally and in favour of parties like the Liberal Democrats, they are our little party in the middle for some of you then, who have championed this for years and finally get the chance for a referendum on it by way of a deal with the right when forming the quaint coalition government we have here..." Jats licks his lips the fire sucking the air from the room "...and so in return for since reneging on every policy they have ever had, we will repay them then on Thursday by just not being bothered to turn up then..." and with minutes to go Jats still thinks there are many more fools in April to come yet

and so Jats gets back to his random, off-the-wall shit then, though occasionally for me it acts as a diary too, seeing as I could never keep one up...a repost...

Jats smiles serenely and recalls gathering the team to him placing his foot on a brand new Adidas ball and asking "so, who can tell me what we play football with then? And the one who gives me the right answer can have this ball, to keep, its yours" as Jats then juggled it from foot to foot a few times letting them covet it a little more while waiting for the answers as they came predictably "the ball" "your feet" "your boots" "all of you" "each other" "the x-box" and Jats shook his head at each one, laughing at the last, then gave them the answer "you play football with your brain" while tapping his forefinger on his temple to emphasize, and then posed another question to them "so what is football then?" and when no answers came this time he let his son answer this one who had heard both questions a hundred times by now. "WAR" little JATS answered emphatically, "that's right..." Jats smiled seeming to be agreeing with him then "...football is WAR...this is not just a game, it's more important than that. This is your chance to play the x-box and playstation for real, though just like there if you don't concentrate and work together as a team, a bunch of newbs will come along and kick your butts, you have to out think them, be smarter than them and definitely no camping here..." as Jats paused for a few seconds letting the giggles subside and the parallels sink in "...so now go show me then" Jats asked while sending the ball skywards with a sweet volley from his right foot that Beckam would be proud of, as they all went scrambling excitedly after it. The first day of training began then.

("...that's the first time I saw that tree to hug post..." mentioned the goblin, adding "...I guess I would hug that tree then, and I told my son to not get caught sprinkling my ashes in geneva's botanical gardens then, a final act of defiance then, livewriter to the end then...")

in the meantime they can continue to both annoy and inspire us...a repost then, just randomly...

no one gives a fuck

and Jats re-appears after enjoying the glorious sunshine here and being busy with JATS "...you would think so by now xxxx, but the numbers keep going up where I am famous for it now, don't you know..." as Jats here is concerned that xxxx is regressing again "...for there has to be something to read now and then from the norm where some of us try to stem the flow with random dashes of intellectualism, whereas some prefer to be famous for just being fucking annoying, and so the choice is to be an apple, or an orange then...though I think I would rather be the knife myself..." as Jats arches an eyebrow at the view counts now

"...imagine if this had been another age, where budding authors like Dickens, Doyle, Shaw and Wilde just happened to be corresponding now, we are not them I know, but still, we have our moments, and how would they go down on a forum, a writers forum especially, with their radical ideas, would their work be praised, emulated, or shot down in flames, their prose, Olde English spelling, and new ideas pilloried and pulled apart, or would it descend into a name calling fest, big nose, baldy, you faggot, you queer, go away you are not welcome here..."

"A repost... how can it be livewriting if it's a repost? Come on, be original," says Dolly. If she ever gets out of her egg, if that wonderful day ever comes, she'll never recycle 'posts from elsewhere' that's for sure. No sir, for she'll squat and strain and and grunt and pass stuff that's surely fresh as the new day's dawn. "Goblins and chameleons, maybe they're only really part-time livewriters, half-dead livewriters." But not Dolly-she's both in her egg and out her egg; a quantum superposition of a dinosaur, like a cat in a box with a vial of poison, with nought but an atom of plutonium for company, both alive and dead.

("...perhaps it's the fact that you are replying to this now, that makes it live then..." suggested the goblin knowing that JATS too, would probably have his slant on it when he turns up, adding "...true, everything one sees on forumland is a repost then, even if it just from your computer to this internet here, but what makes it so live for me, is that it is recital then, directly from the author at poster level, in short the same difference as that between the cinema and the theater here...", where the goblin felt the former as something being filmed somewhere using actors and then shown somewhere else without them, while the latter is admittedly something prepared elsewhere perhaps but performed on the stage by the actors, to which the goblin, explained something else, saying "...often you'll see the text above JATS repost from elsewhere line as prologue or chatting or as an explanation, being his way of splitting the two then, whereas I tend to put it in brackets, as there are no fixed rules, only that which you feel works for you...")

repost from elsewhere, a formal writer's forum, the "what is the biggest problem you face when writing" thread

"...um well now, I suppose that be would be the other posters here I guess..." replied the goblin without malice though, simply explaining "...I mean, when one knows that one is actually addressing shakespeare, einstein, hemmingway and abraham lincolm in ones replies now, those writing juices seem to bubble up within one, moreover, my fingers too, seem to dance across this keyboard ready to adorn these threads with illustrated intellectualizations the likes of which humanity can barely thank me enough for I imagine, and yet, when one is actually fighting some wrecked realization then, that alas, it's probably you lot who are reading this post now, that vessel of imaginative thought does seem to flounder somewhat upon these rocks of reality today, simply inspiration becomes determination, ah but you need not feel too sorry for me now, for I can continue to carry this hardship with forbearance knowing someone here has to do imaginative posts then..."

or, you ever see a stand up go on stage and wing it? You sure? You would understand if you took up the challenge, where the funny thing is, whether the post is funny or not, is how the post becomes appropriate for almost every gig...a repost then, just randomly, slightly edited of course until ones happy with it...

the chameleon now, well known for not being fond of authority remembers the line to never give your power of freedom to anybody, that's yours, it don't belong to nobody but you no siree "...and I always ascertain that power should not be given to anyone who craves it, take these people who rule forum-land then, where anyone wanting the job should be ruled out automatically for they will be wanting it for a reason for sure...no, power everywhere should be given to those that do not desire it so, for as a wise old US president once said 'nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a manís character, give him power' or woman of course..."

a pre-emptive post this time, though it seems I should be saving these. No matter though, I have a store of them now, or can easily do another one that too can be stolen and spread around by someone else, for as always, take what you will...

Thread title change to "random google images by jats".

"...ah see now if you had read any of the text that matches the pretty pictures, which I doubt, being a newcomer to this thread, welcome then, you would know that is factually incorrect, as while I have never denied being a thief, the illustrations are from many a source, sometimes my own, sometimes others original works, that then end up being stolen and spread around just the same..." as the chameleon rummages around now to demonstrate "...not that I object, for that is the beauty of the internet, and Random Stuff is now synonymous with Jats as JATS is synonymous now with the chameleon of Random Stuff, and so good luck with the search for a new car then..." as Jats returns from reading xxxx's post history of self "...hoping you find one better than the Ford Cougar that you use in your avatar, terribly unreliable, yet cars can be a good excuse to let all that anger out..." and the chameleon wonders if that is an original or stock photo in the avatar knowing the lack of response to this will give him his answer then

a new one then, although it has already been posted elsewhere in the "what's the riskiest things you have ever done" thread...

"...yes some of those..." smiles Jats thinking back to the riskiest thing then "...s'pose it has to be the time we dived an Aquifer Cave system under the dessert in the middle of nowhere. Oh for sure we took it seriously, meticulous preparation, yet it had never been done before which was the attraction then, and for sure when we had dived through the twin funnel entrance and squeezed through a long narrow winding tunnel entering a cave the size of a football pitch filled with crystal clear water it was worth it, the closest you can get to being weightless while still on earth, but, if at any time you touched the walls with your hand, or with a stray fin, the visibility became zero instantly and it took all your nerve to keep it together inching your way along the guide lines we had laid down and out again. Not that at the time we thought it was risky at all, until two weeks later two of the group decided to go back with a friend where they had great fun snorkelling in the entrance pool diving down and back up through the twin funnels until the friend didn't come back up again..." as Jats feels a trace of that feeling in the pit of his stomach that he felt when first hearing of it then "...yes it seemed risky then, especially when I recall that the week before I had fallen out with them over something, or other, and so hadn't been there with them..."†